“But,” I asked anxiously, “can you tell me Kaffar’s whereabouts now?”

“No, I cannot—­that is, not to-day.”

“When, then?”

“I may not be able to do so at all.  It all depends on one man.”

“Who is he?”

“Simon Slowden, I think you called him.”

“Simon Slowden!  How can he help us?”

“Evidently he is susceptible to mesmeric influences, and he knows the man you wish to find.  But the difficulty lies here.  Is he sufficiently susceptible?”

“Is that the only hope?”

“All I can see at present.  I was going to suggest that you be thrown into a mesmeric sleep; but you could not be depended on.  The experiences which you have had would make you very uncertain.”

“Then your advice is—­”

“Send for this man at once.  If he fails—­well, I have another alternative.”

“May I know what?”

“No, not now.”

“Answer me this.  Do you think I killed Kaffar, the Egyptian?”

“No, I do not; but your enemy intended you should.”

“Why did I not, then?”

“Because the Egyptian also possessed a mesmerist’s power, and hindered you.  At any rate, such is my opinion.  I am not sure;” and the little man looked very wise.

“Expect us early to-morrow morning,” I said, and then went away to the nearest telegraph office, with a lighter heart than I had known for many long months.  The little professor had given me some hope.  The matter was still enshrouded in mystery, but still I thought I had found a possible solution.

“Send Simon Slowden to me at once” I telegraphed. “Extremely important.  Wire back immediately the time I may expect him.”

Anxiously I waited for an answer.  Although the message was flashed with lightning speed, it seemed a long time in coming.  At length it came, and I read as follows: 

“Slowden will come by train leaving Leeds 11.38.  Meet him at St. Pancras.”

I immediately caught a cab and drove to Gower Street, and, on looking at my time-table, I found that the train mentioned in the telegram arrived in London at 5.15.  This would do splendidly.  I could get Simon to my room and give him some breakfast, and then, after a little rest, drive direct to the professor’s.

I need not say I was early at St. Pancras the following morning.  I had scarcely slept through the night, and anxiously awaited the appearance of the train.  It swept into the station in good time, and, to my great relief and delight, I saw Simon appear on the platform, looking as stolid and imperturbable as ever.

We were not long in reaching Gower Street, where Simon enjoyed a good breakfast, after which we drew up our chairs before the cheerful fire and began to talk.

“Did you have a good journey, Simon?” I asked.

“Slept like the seven sleepers of the patriarch, sur, all the way from Leeds.”